Page 8 of Web of Lies
I sit up on the side of the bed and ignore the way my body protests and the way my head swirls. I probably should be eating more than I am, which is another reason to make the effort to go downstairs. There are treats in that basket. Regan knows what I like best. She's been giving me the space I need to process and grieve, but she's still finding a way to take care of me. Logically, I know I'm not truly alone. I have Adrian and I'll always have Regan. It's just hard right now.
I stand up, putting my hand on the heavy headboard to help me balance. I haven't missed enough meals that I should be this shaky, but I've also been sleeping a lot. I need to take better care of myself. Dad wouldn't be impressed with my current state, not at all. I can hear him now telling me to get my jumping beans in gear. The memory of his voice saying those words to me hurts as much as it feels good. How long is it going to be like this? I don't think I have any more tears to cry, but the sob still feels like a knife when I choke it back.
Downstairs.
I'm going.
And I'm going to eat whatever is in that basket.
Then I'm calling Regan.
And I'll feel better.
I shuffle to the bedroom door and twist the knob. The light from the bathroom is spilling into the hallway and I move toward it. Small steps. After I pass the bathroom I come almost immediately to the top of the stairs and I grip the rail.
Downstairs.
The basket.
I'm fine.
Except I'm not. A sudden wave of dizziness crashes down on me and I have to sit down on the second step before I fall down the rest of them.
“Adrian!” I call, resting my head against the wall. “I need help!” I close my eyes and will the spinning to stop and call much softer, “I'm sorry. I'm dizzy.”
Within a minute he's rushing up the stairs and scooping me up into his arms. “It's alright, Larken. I've got you.” He carries me upstairs and puts me right back into bed, then he tucks the blankets in all around me again.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I just wanted to come downstairs. I heard Regan.”
He brushes my hair back from my face and looks down at me with the sweetest expression. “She came by, but I thought you were asleep. What happened on the stairs?”
I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy the way his hand feels pressing against my forehead. His skin feels much colder than mine. I don't think I have a fever and I don't feel sick other than the weakness and dizziness, but the coolness of his touch is wonderful. “She could have woken me up. She's always allowed.”
“I know,” he sighs. “What happened? You said you were dizzy?”
I nod. “I was doing okay and then everything started spinning. I don't know. I don't feel sick.”
“Hmm,” he cups my cheek and then tilts my chin up so that I open my eyes and look up at him. “Let me get you something. I'll bring you a snack and maybe some tea. Does that sound good?”
I nod. It doesn't, but he expects me to think it does. “Adrian?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Thank you for taking care of me. I promise I'll be better soon.”
~
I am not better. Not sooner or later. Weeks have gone by and I'm still dizzy. Weak. Groggy. Every time I move or try to walk, it feels like I'm fighting against water, and my head feels like I'm in slow motion. It's like this all the time. Adrian says I'm still in shock due to losing my Dad, but I'm beginning to think that isn't it. And I'm starting to lose patience with myself. I can't let this go on any longer, but I can't seem to pull myself out of this fog.
Adrian is afraid to let me go downstairs by myself. I don't blame him. I'm just getting dizzier and dizzier. I think there's something wrong with me, but every time I mention calling the doctor Adrian assures me that it's just part of the grieving process. He's been home less and less with him carrying my weight at the office. I couldn't possibly handle the company in my current state and he's doing his best. He brings me a stack of papers every Friday to sign. I'm supposed to read through them, but it feels like there's a wall of smoke between the words and my mind and I can't focus on them or process them the way I need to. It's so much easier, and quicker, if Adrian just gives me the rundown and I sign what needs to be signed or tell him what needs to be different before I can sign off on things. I don't know what I'd do without him.
I've got a stack of them in front of me right now. I have no idea what they are. Pay raises. Internship agreements. Office supply orders. Maybe a new hire or a new client. I've been looking at the words for what feels like twelve long years. I have to pull myself out of this. I'm supposed to be running Vincent Solutions. That's what my father wanted. That's what I should be doing, not sleeping or hiding in bed all day. I know it has to be exhausting for Adrian, too. Going back and forth taking care of me and the company is too much for him. It isn't fair.
I look over at him sitting at the desk. He's texting someone. He's been texting a lot recently. The thought of him possibly cheating on me played through my mind for half a moment before I discarded it. Adrian isn't that kind of man, he'd ask for a divorce before he'd cheat. “Hey,” I call softly.
He looks up at me and smiles. “Hey.”
“It might save time if you signed all these,” I sigh. “I'm trying, but it feels like I'm trying to read through mud.”
